


Forged in Fire

by StarBoyBlue



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bilbo makes pottery, M/M, More tags to be added, Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, Sort of room mates?, These Two Are Hopeless, Thorin and Bilbo are artists, all of the dwarves work with metal, they share a studio space, thorin is a blacksmith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26011459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarBoyBlue/pseuds/StarBoyBlue
Summary: Spending hours alone in his studio, Bilbo had perfected the subtle art of ‘zoning out’. It was hard not to when the slippery texture of the clay along with the subtle rhythm of music through his headphones lulled him into a perfect state of peace. Never mind that he spent many of the waking hours alone, he was comfortable, and in the end, that was what Bilbo Baggins valued the most.Or,Bilbo the a ceramic art student has a change of fate the day a group of metal workers take up residence in the studio across from his own. His otherwise quiet life is then overturned by the drumming of hammers on anvils and Bilbo is helpless to watch as he falls hopelessly in love.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 10
Kudos: 105





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not expecting there to be any super strong angst hidden away here BUT if there is a need for me to add extra tags for triggers please, look for them here in the top notes before reading! 
> 
> The setting is written off of my relative memory of the Banner Elk area and if there are a few things wrong or off-putting please forgive me! XD  
> Otherwise, enjoy!

The subtle slide of wet clay against Bilbo’s hands was a welcoming return to normalcy. The silky, sloppy texture brought a smile to his face as he shifted his fingers through the mixture which he had left to settle before his “Vacation”. The clay had softened well during his departure and although it now slipped soothingly through his palms, he still regretted having to have left it in the first place.  
He sighed, rolling his eyes now that he was alone once again and free to do so. Honestly, he hadn’t seen the three-hour drive into Charlotte as a holiday, no matter what his aunt Belba had tried to convince him of otherwise. Spending a week with his family had been nice in retrospect-It had been nice to see his cousins at the very least. But there was only so much poking and prodding Bilbo could stand before he needed to retreat from his relatives altogether. Luckily, his studio in Banner Elk was just that, a quiet and peaceful retreat. 

“Ah, Mr. Bilbo welcome back!” 

Well, moderately peaceful at the very least. 

“Hello there Mr. Grey” Turning to face the door, Bilbo set down the muddy mess of clay in his hands and smiled at the old man who had called to him. 

“Oh come now dear boy, what have I told you?” The older man said as he strode freely into the room “Gandalf is perfectly appropriate, thank you.” 

Bilbo once again found his eyes rolling as he slopped off some residual clay from his forearms and offered the man an enduring smile. Mr. Grey- or Gandalf as Bilbo was so often reminded- was his current tenant and the man Bilbo turned his rent checks in to. He was a strange fellow, but so were most older men up here in the Appalachians as Bilbo had found over the years. With his oversized t-shirts and insistence on wearing sandals even in the winter, most would consider Gandalf to be some sort of wandering nomad. Although Bilbo thought that was only because ‘mountain hippie” sounded a bit too insulting when spoken out loud. The man was also very fond of travel - a sentiment which Bilbo couldn’t say he shared - and would often bounce in and out of his studio out of curiosity alone. 

“How was the family then?” Gandalf asked as he lingered near the drying rack where Bilbo’s last collection of cups still sat patiently, waiting to be glazed. After knowing the man for close to two years now, Bilbo was all too familiar with how honestly concerned he was for his personal life. If Bilbo hadn’t known better, he would have considered the man to be “nosey”.

“As prickly as ever I’m afraid” He answered, stirring the bucket of wet clay again with his hands “Eager to hear when I’ll be bringing my ‘girlfriend’ home” 

Gandalf laughed at this, his eyes peering up from where they were lingering alongside one of Bilbo’s larger mugs. 

“And what did you tell them?” He asked with a knowing smile.

“Well-“ Bilbo started, nervously worrying at the inside of his cheek as he rubbed his upper arm over his brow “There are only so many ways to say ‘She and I are taking things slowly’ before your aunt starts to grow suspicious” 

“Growing more and more tenacious yourself I see mister Baggins” Gandalf smiled, teetering back and forth on his heels as he laughed. Bilbo scoffed in return.

Standing and bringing the, moderately heavy, bucket with him over towards the large basin sink, Bilbo jumbled with the variety of tools he had left uncleaned. The icy water stung his palms but it was a welcoming sensation, easily remedied with a quick brush of his hands across his apron.

“So you’re participating in the sale tomorrow then?” Gandalf asked, referring to one of the many artistic festivals Banner Elf held near the college every now and again. 

“Yes, that set will be on sale, if you were wondering” Bilbo replied, catching the way the old man’s fingers were sizing up the mug in relation to his hand. 

“Good, good” Gandalf said, shyly backing away from the mug in an effort to seem less obvious. Bilbo simply laughed in response.

It felt wonderful to be back in his studio again, the dusty tan concrete walls welcoming him inside against the growing chill of the autumn air outside. Not the biggest area to work with that was for sure but Bilbo appreciated it nonetheless. Two rooms, joined by a large set of metal doors made up his home away from home. One room held a total of 3 kilns, which he shared with a student down the hall and the other was where the ‘real’ magic happened.

“It's a good thing you came back when you did,” Gandalf said, having moved now to the other side of the rack. 

“Oh, And why’s that? Worried you’d be out of a source of income?” Bilbo teased, rolling his sleeves up higher against his arms. 

“No, quite the contrary my dear Bilbo” Gandalf spoke with a sort of merit in his voice “In fact I seem to have become a quite deal richer in recent days” 

Bilbo stilled, looking over his shoulder now to stare at the old man from across the room. Gandalf only regarded him with a smile and before Bilbo could open his mouth to question him, off he went, back down the hall. There was nothing really to be said to counter such a mysterious sentence and so Bilbo stood there for a moment, wondering what on earth Gandalf had meant. 

Bilbo was a sculptor by trade, but soon upon moving up north had discovered the delicate art of throwing forms on the wheel. Ceramic work had never really caught his eye until his enrollment in Penland, and since then he had moved about the Appalachian area during his semester’s off, taking his newfound admiration for the craft wherever he went. Banner Elk NC, a lovely little college town seated lovingly in the middle of the Blue Ridge Mountains, had seemed as good a place as any to lay down some roots. Being only 25, Bilbo found the prospect of living ‘on his own’ outside of school very daunting, but the woodsy little town gave him a comfort nowhere else had been able to match.  
Studio space had been easy to find seeing as the area was deeply invested in the craft as it was and Bilbo soon found himself a lovely little community of potters to mingle with. Well- mingle wasn’t perhaps the right word. Ceramic artists were not the most sociable of folk. They had their fair share of gatherings, usually for cultural festivals or large scale markets and expos, but their studios were their hide always.  
Bilbo had found himself very happy to fall in alongside them, nestling down peacefully into a routine that had kept him productive for a very comfortable amount of time now. Having an apartment above his studio was also a bonus he couldn’t see himself giving up any time soon.

His hands slid effortlessly across the clay beneath them as it spun atop the wheel. The dark red tint of the earth between his fingers seeping into his very skin as Bilbo carefully pressed and pulled where was necessary. With grace which had taken many years to perfect, Bilbo pinched and brought up the sides of a bowl, the curving arch of clay bending to his will.  
Spending hours alone in his studio, Bilbo had perfected the subtle art of ‘zoning out’. It was hard not to when the slippery texture of the clay along with the subtle rhythm of music through his headphones lulled him into a perfect state of peace. Never mind that he spent many of the waking hours alone, he was comfortable, and in the end, that was what Bilbo Baggins valued the most.  
Beside him sat a batch of eight perfectly formed bowls, an ideal warm-up for sliding back into the routine of things after having been away so long. A few more pulls and Bilbo was just about ready to add the ninth to the rack when suddenly- a loud crash from across the hall nearly spooked him out of his skin. 

“Good heavens!!” Bilbo cried, his hands leaping from the wheel as his foot pressed down a little too hard on the pedal. He winced as the added speed had thrown his bowl off-center, skewing it to the left and therefore ruining it completely. Frustration usually would have settled in at this point but with a swift peek at the clock, worry took its place.  
What on earth was that, at 8 PM? He looked around at his remaining bowls and thought about the pottery tomorrow morning. Knowing he probably shouldn’t, he sighed and slipped off his headphones. He’d just go and have a look around, it was reasonably early yet, a good night's rest was still on schedule. 

Bilbo stood, leaving his skewed bowl on the wheel to wash his hands before starting his careful investigation. Hesitantly, he pushed open the door to his studio and poked his head outside. The studio hallway was dark, seeing as the younger student who shared the space usually left around 5. There were other doors which littered the hall, branching off into studios of their own but Bilbo was sure that they had been empty for many months- well- perhaps now he wasn’t as sure as he had previously thought.  
Erupting forth from the door directly in front of his own, a man appeared. Bilbo had to bite back the scream which threatened to leap from his throat as he flinched back in surprise. The man, in return, only stared at him blankly. He was a huge creature, with broad shoulders and a grizzly look about him which left Bilbo shivering in his corduroys. His tattooed head was shaven, making up for the lack of hair there in that which surrounded his face. A large scar cut across his otherwise handsome features and Bilbo had to swallow a lump in his throat before speaking. 

“Good evening…” Bilbo muttered, hesitant to leave the safety of his door frame. The man, who wore a black tank top tucked into a very heavy looking pair of canvas cargo pants, only looked him up and down with little interest. Bilbo quickly averted his gaze, staring instead at the man’s steel-toed boots. That was of course until he pressed something into Bilbo’s arms. 

“Hold this,” The man said before walking off, leaving Bilbo to stare at the- hammer?- which had been deposited into his grasp. Bilbo watched him go weakly, helpless to really stop him or ask any questions.  
The hammer now sitting in his hands was a large one, nearly the size of Bilbo’s entire arm and it was reasonably heavy to boot. He looked it over, one- twice- before the realization that he had no real idea of what was going on finally dawned on him and he started off down the hall after the man.

“Excuse me?” He called, taking a moment to actually turn on the hallway light, which he noticed had gone ignored by the stranger in question. No answer came until he approached the door which led to the garage and then again, it burst open before him.  
A familiar steel-toed boot made his acquaintance first before the large man it belonged to followed in after, a box of what appeared to be metal machinery in his arms. 

“Oh- um- Excuse me?” Bilbo tried but was once again ignored by the man as they both doubled back down the hall “I’m so sorry it’s just that we-“

“Get the door,” The man said, cutting Bilbo off mid-sentence.

“Oh! Oh, of course,” Bilbo obliged, holding the door which the stranger had first exited, open for him to return to. His manners had once again gotten the better of him and as Bilbo watched him walk inside, completely ignoring him. Bilbo shook his curls and tried once again to find his resolve. 

“I’m so sorry to bother you but, it’s just-“ Bilbo started, this time crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the open door in order to keep his eyes on the man. 

“Dwalin, at your service” The man replied before he could finish, standing and towering over Bilbo with a nod. Bilbo opened his mouth as if to speak but found that he really didn’t have anything to say to that. 

“And you are?” Dwalin asked in response. 

“Oh! Bilbo Baggins, at yours” Bilbo replied, nervously smiling and taking a generous step back. Dwalin seemed content with that answer and moved past him again, wandering back down the hall.  
Bilbo took the opportunity to look around at the- previously empty- studio he now found himself in. Boxes and crates littered the walls, the floor plan relatively the same as Bilbo’s own space if not for a wee bit bigger. With everything boxed up like this, it was hard to tell what sort of artist this man was exactly. The few spare parts of machinery offered him little if any help. 

“So you’re Mr. Bilbo?” A voice from behind him had Bilbo flinching back once more, grabbing his chest with one hand over his apron. Turning, he was surprised to see the face of a man who was certainly not Dwalin.

“Y-Yes?” He answered, only Bilbo was still a little too shocked to seem earnest in his response.

“Balin, at your service,” The man said, bowing “I’m that one's older brother ya’ see” 

Bilbo looked past him, over to where Dwalin was already returning with another box and nodded, searching between them to find some sort of family resemblance. He wasn’t sure if it was the beards which were making it hard to do so, or if it was just that the multiple heart attacks he had endured were finally catching up with him. 

“Nice to meet you” He finally said, smiling weakly to Balin who returned it with a smile of his own. He was shorter than Dwalin and perhaps a bit older, but Bilbo certainly appreciated his happier disposition over that of his brother. His hair was white, a brilliant contrast against the red of his coat which was heavily stained here and there with black soot. Balin also wore a pair of heavy-duty work gloves, which matched the belt which hung around his waist. He moved past Bilbo and into the studio, moving a few boxes around as Dwalin approached and helped him. They carried on this way for a while, picking up random parts of machinery and tossing it here and there, until Bilbo finally picked up the remaining pieces of his pride and sought to ask the question.

“Um- When..When did you sign your lease then?” Bilbo muttered, feeling a little frustrated over the fact that the brothers weren’t paying him any attention at all. 

“Not that I’m bothered by your presence, heavens no, it's just that..” He continued even when the brothers started a different conversation between themselves.

“Well I’d like to know my neighbors and to no fault of yours, it seems as though I’ve been kept out of the loop,” Bilbo said, hands on his hips as Balin tossed what appeared to be a pair of pliers over his shoulder. 

“If that question seems at all intrusive then I’m sorry but I-“

“Apology accepted!” Balin said with a smile as he peered over his shoulder and Bilbo had to put far too much effort into closing his mouth.  
It was then that Bilbo heard a very loud knock at the garage door, the sound carrying through the hall and drawing his attention away from the brothers. When neither of them stirred, Bilbo resorted to sighing in defeat, walking down the hall, and opening the door. What greeted him were the bright smiles of two younger men, one blond with a very mischievous sparkle in his eye and the other, brunette who wore a rather innocent grin. Both of them had long, past shoulder-length hair that was braided back out of their eyes. They were actually, rather charming until of course, they opened their mouths. 

“Hold this please!” The brunette said, pushing a small box into Bilbo’s chest before the pair of them moved past him, their arms full of their own burdens. Bilbo starred out into the garage for a moment, blinking. 

“Ah- and um- who might you be?” He asked, turning on his heel to try and catch up to them. 

“Fili!” The blond said happily, shouting over his shoulder before meeting Dwalin with a grin.

“Kili,” Said the other who passed his box onto Balin “His brother!”

“At your service,” The two of them said in unison, a trick which only worked in shocking Bilbo a little more as they then disregarded him completely. He watched helplessly then as the four strange men moved about here and there, unpacking all manner of tools and machinery.  
Bilbo tried his best to back up into a corner, any place where he was out of the way. He normally would have fled the scene by now, in favor of retreating into his own studio but he found himself too nervous to leave these strange men alone. Not to mention the ever-present nagging curiosity over what sort of artists they were exactly. The tools they were unpacking hardly had anything in common. Hammers, nails, knives, and files all littered the floor around Bilbo’s feet as the men continued to bring things in. At first, it had seemed as though they were repairmen or utility workers rather than artists at all. 

“Kili, did Oin say he needed help with the belt girders?” Dwalin asked, suddenly snapping Bilbo’s attention up from the floor.

“Nah, he and Gloin will be bringing them tomorrow” Kili answered with a wave of his hand and Bilbo felt a little guilty over the way his heart sank. More of them? 

“Excellent, then go check on your uncle, please. He’s- ah, well speak of the devil,” Balin started, stilling when his eyes spotted another figure in the hall.  
Bilbo was only given a moment’s warning before he blinked and then took in the sight of perhaps one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen. He was tall, not as tall as Dwalin but still impressively so as he strode into the room. Bilbo found himself backing up a little more into his corner as he took in the sight of him, all broad shoulders and thick for arms. His long black hair was pulled back behind his head with a silver clasp, thick braids dangling from either side of his face. Rings of all shapes and sizes adorned his knuckles which were tattooed and Bilbo almost noticed a series of pendants hanging around his neck. He seemed, for all intents and purposes, to have just stepped off a fucking Viking ship.

“Thorin! Where do you want these?” Kili asked, his voice very far away as Bilbo struggled back and forth with his manners, and the urge to stare at the man before him. 

“There is fine, thank you Kili” The man- Thorin- responded. Bilbo quivered, his voice was deep and smooth like dark chocolate. Then, Thorin turned to face him and Bilbo felt every inch of his resolve crumbling to join the hammers on the floor. 

“Are you, Mr. Baggins?” Thorin asked, his steely cobalt eyes piercing through Bilbo’s very soul. Thorin was far too handsome for his own good, a neatly kept beard hugging his strong jaw and peppering his face in a lovely array of stubble. 

“Ye- Yes that would be me” Bilbo squeaked, nervously stepping forward and reaching out a hand. Thorin eyed him with no amount of interest on his face but took Bilbo’s hand nonetheless, shaking it firmly. 

“A pleasure. I’m the one who signed last week” Thorin stated, pulling his hand back and leaving Bilbo to moon over the loss of warmth and pressure. His hands were huge, dwarfing Bilbo’s own and powerful too. Good gracious, what manner of man was this?

“Ah, I see…” Bilbo managed to respond, weakly lowering his hand back to his side “Well- um, I must ask, what is all of this for?” 

The defensive glare Thorin shot his way almost had Bilbo flinching back, regretting his choice of words. Nevertheless, Thorin looked around at the mess and gestured with a hand.

“We are metalworkers” He answered bluntly. Bilbo blinked, looking around and nodding in meager understanding. Guess that would explain the hammers, somewhat. He was about to ask for specifics when the brilliantly loud sound of a riveting gun caused him to trip over a nearby box. 

“Kili! I didn’t say I was ready yet!” Fili scolded his brother as Kili shyly giggled to himself, the pair of them standing over a mess of cast iron parts. 

Bilbo then checked his watch, noticing in horror that it was almost 10:30. Only a few more hours until his sale and he still had bowls left to finish! Thorin’s eyes tracked his movement out of the corner of his gaze and Bilbo found himself sputtering, trying not to kill himself on his way out the door. 

“Well, um- welcome to the studio. I um- Good evening!” Was all he could really say before his nerves were carrying him out the door and back into the safety of his own studio, the door to which shut securely tight behind him.  
Bilbo slumped against the metal of the door momentarily before rolling the balls of his palms over his eyes in exhaustion. Thorin’s gaze never truly left his memory and Bilbo silently mourned the loss of what had started off as such a peaceful night. When he finally made it back to his pottery wheel he was dismayed to find his skewed and ugly bowl just as ugly as he had left it and now bone dry. The shrill, high pitched squeal of a rivet gun was what finally drove him to hang up his apron and turn in for the night, defeated.


	2. Flint and Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo battles with the side effects of having new neighbors and comes to a frightening realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your kind responses to the first chapter! I'm happy to hear that you're enjoying it!

Bilbo Baggins woke the following morning to discover that there had been many things in his life he’d taken for granted. The peace and beautiful serenity of solitude, the wistful bliss of sitting alone with a cup of coffee, and the comfort of silence, to name a few.

“Rough night last night, Mr. Bilbo?” Bofur, his closest friend, asked as he helped Bilbo pack up his wares into the back of his banged-up red Toyota.  
Bilbo glanced at him, even more discouraged at how evident his exhaustion must be if Bofur was able to guess just at the sight of him. As it turned out, the serenade of rivet guns and hammer falls weren’t exactly the loveliest things to fall asleep to. Honestly, what had those monsters been doing all night, reconstructing an atom bomb?

As soon as sleep would start to creep around the corner and take him, an ear-shattering bang would rile him once again. No matter how many pillows Bilbo had piled atop his head, there was no escaping the commotion going on downstairs. Even when he could lull himself into a sorry excuse for a nap, haunting blue eyes would be there waiting for him, watching him. That man, that unfairly handsome man. Thorin.  
A few hours of restless sleep had turned into a lost cause as Bilbo eventually just had to pull himself from the sheets and start early on packing. Even now, standing in his favorite pair of corduroys and a lovely knit sweater, he felt like the living dead. 

“Regrettably...” he muttered as he turned his glare back towards his apartment a few yards behind. It sat peacefully amidst the morning fog, quiet only now when Bilbo no longer needed it. Bofur was always kind in offering to help Bilbo into town on mornings like these, seeing as the small potter was usually weighed down with his fragile wares. Bofur himself was a woodworker and had been a resident of Banner Elk for many years by the time Bilbo had moved in. It seemed to make sense then that he would give Bilbo a helping hand, seeing as they were headed to the same place anyway.

“I’m awfully sorry to hear that,” Bofur said, pushing a few boxes of his finished wooden toys onto the floor of the dash “But cheer up! Bombur’s got some oatmeal cookies wait’n for us when we get to the garden!” 

Bilbo smiled weakly at Bofur’s words, not completely convinced that he could take emotional comfort in the promise of food like he could. But it didn’t help anyone to sulk and so Bilbo straightened his clothes and strengthened his resolve. The drive over to the square where the community sales took place was always a pleasant one, especially in the early mornings. As much as Bilbo mourned the loss of sleep, the view of the sun creeping up and over the mountains soon had him feeling better about it. Beautiful golden hues spilled up and over the evergreen ridge, filling the valley with lilac and lavender light. It was absolutely breathtaking.  
The ‘Garden’ as Bofur and a few other locals called it, was a gravel lot located in the center of town near the college. It was seated next to a large garden of hydrangeas, hence the name, and was the place where most of Banner Elk’s community gatherings took place. By the time Bofur and Bilbo rounded the nearest block, he could already spot the multitude of colorful tents and their streamers, flapping lazily in the morning breeze.

“Here we are then!” Bofur said happily, parking close to a row of tents that Bilbo had become very familiar with by now “Need any help?” 

“Oh no Bofur I’ve got it from here, thank you!” Bilbo’s words came out a bit shaken as he tried to balance a few too many bowls in his hands. He traversed the gravel, concentrating very hard on not dropping anything when of course, he tripped. 

“Woah there, steady now!” Strong hands shot out to catch him just in time and Bilbo looked up to catch the eye of another friendly face.

“Oh goodness, thank you Bifur!” He said happily, offering Bifur help in steadying the bowls which had tumbled into his arms. 

“Good to see you too Bilbo, welcome back!” the older man laughed, his larger hands much more adept at holding so many things at once “We went ahead and set yours up for ya’”

Bifur helped Bilbo all the way over to a lovely little tent set up in the middle of two others. Its canvas was embroidered along the edges, decorated with delicate thread branches of lavender. Bilbo smiled, feeling very happy indeed to see it again as he rested his bowls down on top of one of the many tables set up inside. 

“Oh thank you Bifur, you didn’t have to,” he started but was silenced with a wave of Bifur’s hand. 

“Oh nonsense, just happy to have you back Bilbo,” he said sweetly, his thick black beard bristling as the corners of his mouth bunched it up around his jaw. Bilbo flushed a little and nodded, accepting that his friends were just too kind for their own good. 

He then went about the business of unloading all of his other wares, pots, and bowls of every size. A few cups here and there along with the mugs that Gandalf had been so keen about the day before. They were very brilliant mugs, glazed in hues of gray and blue, the handles swirling down to join the body of the cup in a gentle cascade that Bilbo had sculpted to resemble tree branches. As he released them all from their bubble wrap prisons, Bilbo made sure to hide one mug behind the others, pushing it a little farther to the back. He’d keep that one saved for the old man, if he did, in fact, decide to come by.  
Bilbo handled each of his little creations with care, placing them along the tabletops with a smile as the morning light finally started to filter in through the top of the tent. The gravel under his shoes crunched with every step and somehow Bilbo found himself completely content, the rosy colors of the glazes reflecting in his cheeks. 

“Hello, Bilbo!” Bombur, the aforementioned baker, greeted him once he took a moment to reflect on his work. Bilbo turned and immediately smiled, spotting the basket of oatmeal cookies in the man’s arms. 

“Good morning Bombur! Oh, I was told about those,” Bilbo teased as he took one for each hand “Don’t mind me.”

“Oh yes, heaven forbid Bilbo Baggins steals a cookie or two!” Bombur laughed, the jolly sound echoing out around the square “Ya know, my brother sure does enjoy spoiling my surprises” 

“Aye! I heard that!” Bofur called from his and Bombur’s tent, the edges of his ridiculous hat peeking out the side of one flap. Even through the momentary gaps in the tent, Bilbo could see the brilliant playground of toys and knick-knacks which the brothers were so fond of making. Bifur, their close cousin, also joined in on their amazing craftsmanship and the three had become renowned woodworkers, each in their own right.

“I had to spoil it, the lad had a rough time of it last night!” Bofur came walking out towards them and Bombur regarded Bilbo with a worried smile. 

“Oh no Bilbo, why's that?” He asked. Bilbo popped a finger into his mouth as he collected the last few scattered crumbs from his palm and rolled his eyes with a sigh. Blurry memories of cobalt eyes and rippling shoulder muscles fell away into the remaining annoyance of having been woken up every half hour on the dot.

“Oh nothing, new neighbors is all. Kept me up all night” He stated plainly. The brothers exchanged glances and nodded in understanding. 

“Sorry to hear that m’lad” Bofur said, clasping a hand over Bilbo’s shoulder “But y’here now! Let’s make the most of today” 

Bilbo returned his smile and nodded, eager to get on with the sale. He turned on his heel and was happy to find a stranger already peering over the edges of his tables, taking in the sight of his creations with a smile.  
Banner Elk’s sales were always an enjoyable experience for Bilbo. From his very first, when he had sat out on the curb and hand-stitched the lavender into his tent flaps- to his most recent, they never failed him. The revenue from his sales wasn't even the best part, it was the serenity of having people appreciate his work. People of all shapes and sizes, mostly older ladies and gentlemen, would offer their compliments;

‘Oh, what a lovely color!’ 

‘You never cease to impress me, sir.’ 

And Bilbo would beam just a wee bit brighter with every single one. Bilbo would never admit to it out loud, but his ego was the thing that seemed to surpass even the inflating of his pockets after the day was done. Not to say he was cocky, but an artist always likes to hear that his work is appreciated. Especially by those who buy his work to use them. There was a special sort of pleasure in knowing that a customer might use the mug he made every morning from now into the foreseeable future. That person will have created a bond with Bilbo completely on their own, growing attached to an object which he had made with his own two hands. It was a very nice sentiment. 

A few children would walk past his tent every now and then, their mothers coming in to roam about as they themselves stood outside to carry out a sword fight. The swords themselves were of course made by Bifur next door, the boys brandishing them as mightily as medieval warriors might have a real blade. Their clattering would sometimes get on Bilbo’s nerves but the laughter of children always brightened his spirits and in the end. Who was he to deny them the glory of battle?

On one particular instance though, the ‘clash’ of their swords gave way to an ever-louder noise which Bilbo would recognize even in his dreams- because he had, all of the night before. 

“Oh no…” He muttered, setting down the bowl he had been polishing to walk out the front of his tent. There, in the gravel past a pair of dueling nine-year-olds, sat a tent which Bilbo had never seen before. If Bilbo had felt he had been brought back into the twelfth century by the clash of wooden swords alone, then this was like walking into a time machine.  
It wasn’t so much a tent as it was an encampment, large wooden posts holding the canvas covering up high over a dusty fire pit. A few heavy-looking wooden tables were set up to the side, collections of metal objects on display for the gathering patrons to admire. There was quite the crowd situated around it so Bilbo couldn’t see who it was currently driving the hammer down onto the anvil, but in his heart, he knew. A flash of golden hair followed by brunette gave it all away as the two younger brothers from last night made their way around the crowd.

Their ever-present smiles easily bewitched the gathering patrons, ladies simply fawning over them as they gestured back to the tables with a grin each. What really set them apart from the crowd was what they were wearing, which Bilbo swore he recognized from some sort of old movie set. Baggy linen shirts tucked into what appeared to be genuine breeches, Bilbo had to blink a few times to make sure he was seeing things correctly. They each had a thick leather apron tied around their waists, their hands filthy and coated in thick black chalk. 

The shell of a trailer truck was parked behind the tables, a man- who Bilbo easily recognized as Balin happily moving between the cash register and the wares stored inside. He was the last part of the puzzle for Bilbo to finally conclude that this was a nightmare. A waking nightmare, the worst kind. 

“You alright there Bilbo?” Bofur’s voice snapped him out of his daze as Bilbo flinched and turned to face him. 

“Bofur!” He hissed, grabbing the woodworker by the shoulders and lowering his voice “It’s them!” 

“It’s who?” Bofur asked, a little bit scared now. 

“My new neighbors! The ones who kept me up all night!” Bilbo said, chancing a wild look behind him again to make sure he had still gone unnoticed. He suspected that Bofur would want to hear all about their brutish behavior but then completely sidestepped Bilbo’s expectations by erupting into a blinding smile.

“Your new neighbors are the Durins?!” he asked. Bilbo could only blink in response. 

“I beg your pardon?” he muttered. 

“I know em’!” Bofur exclaimed, much to Bilbo’s dismay “I’m the one who suggested they move here after all!” 

Bilbo felt the very color drain his face as his hands released his friend and went limp at his sides. Dear Lord, please no. 

“Come on, let's go have a chat!” Bofur said, happily slinging an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and dragging him off. Bilbo really couldn’t do anything to stop him as he felt his world crumbling down around him. 

The closer they got to the little encampment, the louder and everything became. The sharp and echoing ring of metal meeting metal carving through Bilbo’s ears as the added heat started to creep under his clothes. He struggled in Bofur’s grasp, hoping that perhaps there was enough time for him to escape before a familiar voice sealed his fate. 

“Hello there, Bofur!” One of the younger brothers, Fili maybe, said as the pair of them finally reached the edge of the crowd. Bilbo was released and was free to turn, red-faced, to face the brothers who were of course smiling at him in amusement. 

“Hello, boys! Good to see ya!” Bofur greeted them both. The three of them exchanged hugs before the brother’s eyes finally fell on him. 

“And if it isn’t Mr.Bilbo!” Kili said, one brow arching up in surprised amusement “Caught yourself a little stowaway Bofur?” Fili asked.

“Who, Bilbo? Oh no, he’s a dear friend of mine!” He replied, happily hugging Bilbo around the shoulders. That title might be in need of a demotion after this whole mess, Bilbo thought. 

“He was just telling me about the ruckus you all made last night,” Bofur said then, which caused the brothers to still in their amused giggling. 

“Us? Of course not,” Kili said quickly, waving his hands. 

“Yes, Uncle Thorin was the one awake all last night. Had to be ready for today, ya’ see,” Fili supplied just as eagerly. Bofur eyed them both before grinning again. 

“Thorin’s here? Where is the brute then, haven’t seen him for a year or more!” He asked, happily leaving his scolding behind. Bilbo, a little disappointed, was luckily distracted at the mention of Thorin’s name. 

“He’s working right now, step up and see for yourself!” Kili said, guiding Bofur and Bilbo both through the crowd until they reached a perimeter of thigh woven rope. The brush of stranger’s bodies trying to worm their way closer only aided in agitating Bilbo even more but when they finally broke through Bilbo found that he all of a sudden, no longer cared. 

The sight of thick, steel-toed boots, giving way to even thicker calves clad in a familiar dark brown denim suddenly had him starstruck. He knew what was coming when he finally looked up and felt his whole body tremble. Thorin, just as unfairly handsome as he had been the night before, stood now in the center of a crowd. He wore a similar linen tunic to those the boys had been wearing but his was significantly filthier, soaking in sweat and charcoal stains. It was tighter too, hugging his shoulders and collar bones as his hair fell about his head like a raven halo. Bilbo felt a whimper bubble up in the back of his throat, oh, the unfairness of it all.  
Thorin brought one powerful arm back, brandishing a hammer, before bringing it down against the gleaming red hot piece of metal which he held in the other. The anvil before him seemed to shudder upon impact, the ringing sound produced singing through Bilbo’s very bones. Thorin tossed his head, his braids doing little to keep all of the hair from his face as the thick mane of ash black locks seemed to have a mind of their own. He eyed the metal shard between his hands, his fingers thoroughly protected by a pair of thick work gloves, before he turned and pierced the blade into the heart of a burning furnace. Coals and sparks flew out about the floor, the light-catching in the reflection of the beads that decorated Thorin’s braids. If the man had seemed like a Viking yesterday, clad in jeans in a t-shirt, he seemed like the god of war himself today. 

A few more hammer falls and Thorin was soon dousing the blade into a large vat of oil, the heat from the fire sending a plume of steam into the air. The crowd around him all celebrated, clapping and cheering but Bilbo could not hear them, his attention was completely stolen by the man in front of him.  
A blacksmith. Thorin was a blacksmith. 

“Aye, Uncle!” Fili called, cupping a hand around his mouth as he did so “Got a visitor for ya!” 

Bilbo’s eyes only widened as Thorin’s attention left the blade and fell upon his nephew. Bilbo felt his heart clench, watching as Thorin placed the finished blade into a vice before he turned and started his approach. He slowly peeled off his gloves and brushed his hands against his apron, stuffing them into his pocket before reaching up to tie his hair back away from his face in a loose bun. Bilbo thought he might die on the spot. 

“Bofur?” Thorin asked, the hint of a smile spreading across his lips. His voice was thick, perhaps a bit deeper due to exhaustion but certainly just as earth-shaking.

“Hello Thorin! Good to see ya!” Bofur greeted him happily, reaching out to clasp the other man on the arm. Thorin did the same and the two exchanged smiles, happily reuniting as old friends. Bilbo felt a little funny being caught in the middle, but couldn’t for the life of him look away. 

“My good friend Bilbo says you were working all night long, that right?” Bofur teased, elbowing Bilbo in the ribs. Thorin’s eyes then finally- finally- fell upon him and Bilbo had to hold back from crumbling down into the gravel. 

“Did he? Well, I hope he accepts my apology,” Thorin said, speaking to Bilbo without actually speaking to him “My profession is a loud one” 

Bilbo didn’t say anything in return, couldn’t really- I mean what on earth was he supposed to say- and Thorin took that as his cue to turn back to his work. 

“It is good to see you Bofur, let's catch up later,” He said with a smile, his eyes lingering a little too long on the pair of them before he was slipping on his gloves again and returning to the furnace. Bofur watched him go with a happy wave, guiding Bilbo out of the crowd as they made their way back over towards their own tents. 

“There, see? they aren’t bad!” Bofur said happily, a skip in his step. Bilbo could only nod, stuck between wanting to agree and wanting to grieve for the loss of his sanity.  
Out of the many things Bilbo had discovered he had taken for granted, the ability to live life unburdened by the affliction of ‘infatuation’ was one he really missed.

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Bilbo- but hey, all blessings come with their fair share of curses too!


End file.
